Law & Underwear
by Alisia D. Crede
Summary: A homecoming of a different sort. PARODY.


Law & Underwear  
  
By Alisia D. Crede  
  
Disclaimer: Say it with me now: par-o-dy. No, really. Liberties will be taken, traditional sexual pairings will be willfully disregarded, and questionable euphemisms for the sex act will be used with reckless abandon. Any resemblance to persons living or dead or fictional is possibly coincidental. Or not. I am so going straight to hell for this.  
  
Rating: R, for sex and lots of it.  
  
Author's notes at the end.  
  
********  
  
*  
  
[doink doink sound]  
  
*  
  
Dick's Living Room  
  
Somewhere Near Los Angeles, California  
  
9:00 p. m.  
  
  
  
In the dusk of the living room, lit only by the dim glow of the television, a shadowed figure rises up from the couch and makes his way to the bathroom. The television blares into the now-empty room behind him.  
  
"Next on NBC, a Very Special Law & Order movie--Law & Underwear."  
  
From the bathroom, a crash and a wail.  
  
"Oh, GOD! It WAS real!"  
  
*  
  
[doink doink sound]  
  
*  
  
Dick's Office  
  
Somewhere Near Los Angeles, California  
  
2:34 a. m.  
  
Several weeks earlier.  
  
  
  
The shredded remains of a cheese-and-mushroom omelette lay limply on the plate beside him. He stared at the screen, the cursor mocking him as it danced in place on the empty page.  
  
Blink.  
  
Blink.  
  
Blink.  
  
He struggled to find words. Any words. Anything that could possibly be made into an episode. The cursor had to be FED!!!  
  
"WRITE ABOUT ME, DAMMIT!" a small, yet emphatic, voice shrieked directly in his ear.  
  
He jumped, and turned to see a small person sitting on his shoulder. Somewhere in the darkest reaches of his mind, this struck him as odd, but by this point, he was willing to grasp at any idea -- no matter how dubious the origin.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked.  
  
"What did you expect? Angel wings and a plastic halo?"  
  
"I thought you were doing...something else now."  
  
"*She* is. I'm not," came the snappish reply.  
  
He shrugged, nearly causing the small figure to topple off of his shoulder. "Whatever. I don't need you in order to have a hit show."  
  
"Dick, man, I must disagree at this juncture."  
  
At that point, he found his fingers moving on the keyboard, bringing to life her hypnotic visions…  
  
***  
  
Briscoe and Green rescued the now-sobbing Mickey O'Connor from the clutches of Bobby Goren and sent him to the relative safety of Central Booking, leaving Goren alone in the interrogation room.  
  
A short time later, they were on their way back to their desks when they heard a strange moaning noise emananting from the interrogation room. Being detectives, they went to investigate. As they entered the observation room, they were greeted by the horrifying sight of Bobby Goren and "Little Bobby" enjoying some quality time in front of the two-way mirror.  
  
Goren rasped, "Oh, yeah, you're the best I've ever had. No man or woman could ever compare to you."  
  
Lennie looked over at Ed.  
  
"What the hell is this guy talkin' about?" he said.  
  
Through the speaker, Goren's monologue continued. "Oh, yeah, right there. You're so damn good. Your partner tried to give you a blowjob once in an attempt to get noticed, but she just can't comprehend the greatness of your destiny."  
  
"Oh, my God. This guy is a piece of work." Lennie shook his head and turned away from the sight. Goren's choice of location reminded him of the persistent rumors swirling around his two former partners and their own special brand of "interrogation" in that very room.  
  
Unfortunately, Ed chose that moment to slam him up against the institutional green wall and began to ravage Lennie's mouth with his tongue.  
  
***  
  
Dick turned to the figure on his shoulder and glared as effectively as is possible at such a short distance--which is to say, not especially effectively.  
  
"What the hell are you doing to my shows?!" he yelped.  
  
The figure grinned mercilessly.  
  
"Dick, man, just tryin' to spice up the show," she replied.  
  
"Well, STOP it!" he whimpered, swatting helplessly at her.  
  
She danced out of his reach and kicked him in the side of the head.  
  
"Dick, man, I've been waiting for six years to do this. Six long years. Do you have any idea the kind of indignities I've suffered at the hands of amateurs, thanks to you?"  
  
He didn't reply. This seemed safe.  
  
She leaned closer to his ear and said in a menacing voice, "We're not done. Keep typing."  
  
***  
  
Meanwhile, on the other side of the squadroom, a similar situation was beginning to unfold in former office of Captain Cragen. Cragen and Elliot, his current amore, glanced furtively around the office.  
  
"Don't worry," Cragen said to his wary lover. "Van Buren is out sick today."  
  
"I still don't have to see why we have to do it in your old office," Elliot whined. "What's wrong with the office you have now?"  
  
"We've already done it in every conceivable place and position in that room. It's time to branch out."  
  
Elliot followed obediently, like the bitch that he was.  
  
Ten minutes later, Van Buren returned to the office from a meeting down at headquarters. She'd been feeling sick all day, trying to decide whether or not to go home. The final nail in the coffin was opening the door to her office and discovering her predecessor bending someone over her desk in a way that redefined workplace hierarchy. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, she closed the door again and fled.  
  
***  
  
"Why spare her? Doesn't she deserve some of the fun?"  
  
"Dick, man, she was always nice to me. I owe her something."  
  
"And what do you have against the others?"  
  
She shrugged. "I dunno. You're the one who created them, remember?"  
  
He sighed. "You're gonna let me stop soon, aren't you?"  
  
She smiled enigmatically. "Hey, we're only about half an hour into the show. We've got the whole 'Order' half left!"  
  
He began to beat his head on the desk.  
  
"Let the melodrama begin," she whispered…  
  
***  
  
Across town, Fin found Alex sitting morosely in an empty courtroom.  
  
"I could have done more, Fin," she sighed as he approached. "That guy only got 18 months for what he did."  
  
"It's not your fault, Counselor," Fin replied, leaning on the edge of the table. "Sometimes the system breaks down. You did all you could, and at least next time the neighbors will know he's coming."  
  
Cabot sighed again. "It's not enough."  
  
Fin reached out and caressed her cheek. "I can help you forget for a while," he whispered.  
  
Alex's head snapped up and she saw the lascivious look in Fin's eyes. "Oh, really? And just how do you propose to do that, Detective?"  
  
Fin grinned wolfishly. "Ever done it in a courtroom, Counselor?"  
  
Alex needed little encouragement and soon had Fin pinned against the witness stand. (Her original plan had been to do it in Judge Schreiber's chair, but upon further reflection, she realized the accompanying Old Man Smell would have a detrimental effect on the entire enterprise.)  
  
"Do you think this thing will support my weight?" she whispered huskily.  
  
"I only know one way to find out," he choked out. His engorged member pressed eagerly against her as he moved to lift her.  
  
"Oh, God, Fin, you're amazing!" Alex gasped, as she lost herself in a roiling sea of orgasmic bliss.  
  
***  
  
"PLEASE make it stop!" he cried, diving under his desk in an attempt to avoid the keyboard and its incipient dangers.  
  
"No way, Dick, man. You're coming back up here and finishing this."  
  
"Or what? You're a *fictional character*! What are you going to do to me?"  
  
"The worst fate possible -- actorfic. There are millions of viewers every week; I'm sure that some of them would be happy to oblige me." She punctuated her threat by jumping up and down on his head. "The sooner you get back up here and finish, the sooner I'll leave you alone."  
  
Whimpering quietly, he crawled back up into his chair. "We're not going to write about *all* of my characters, are we?"  
  
She sighed. "Well, as we speak, Olivia is running a three-way with Munch and Huang" -- she paused here to wait for his inevitable wails of protest to die away -- "but there are just some mental pictures I don't need."  
  
"Thank God for small favors," he said.  
  
"Not so fast, Dick, man. We have my very favorite character still to come."  
  
"Please, Claire, *anything* but that!"  
  
"Sorry, Dick, man, but this is something that has to be done."  
  
***  
  
Jack was living a fantasy. He had two intelligent and easily-manipulated women who were about to enjoy the life-altering experience of sex with him on The Couch.  
  
Serena, clad only in her black lace bra and matching thong, smiled predatorily at Jack as she slowly disrobed Nora.  
  
Nora's skimpy—  
  
***  
  
Dick let out a distinctively girly scream and scrambled to the far corner of the room, where he attempted to assume the fetal position.  
  
"Pleasegodmakeitstoppleasemakeitstoppleasedon'tletmeknowwhatnoraiswearing," he chanted as he rocked back and forth in his corner.  
  
"Damn it, Dick, man, quit screwing around and get up!" Claire commanded, biting down on his earlobe to get his attention.  
  
"I can't…." came the pathetic, wavering reply.  
  
Claire collapsed into a fit of giggles. "You know what?" she said. "Neither could Jack."  
  
Dick sat bolt upright and stared down at the figure on his shoulder. "That's how it ends?! My God, woman, have you no shame?"  
  
Claire patted his sideburn comfortingly. "No, Dick, man, that's not how it ends. The last scene is Paul Robinette riding Ben Stone around the office like the pony he never had."  
  
Dick gave a choked cry and finally lapsed into blissful unconsciousness.  
  
"Dick, man, where are you going? This is only Part I."  
  
-end-  
  
Special thanks go to two particularly good bottles of wine, without which this story would never have come into its hideous and sacrilegious being.  
  
Kyllikki: Gosh, it's really cramped here behind this curtain.  
  
jael: It's the price you pay for being a collaborative author: you've got to sacrifice either space or control. Say…I really like anagrams, don't you?  
  
Kyllikki: Dude, how much wine have you had?  
  
jael: [giggling] I just fell off the couch!!! 


End file.
